


Home Is Where The Heart (and the gun) Is

by gala_apples



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fucking Machines, Multi, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7257919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three weeks into having royally pissed off Swamp Things, this is where Michael’s wound up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is Where The Heart (and the gun) Is

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day One of the Mavinsay event, prompt GTA.
> 
> This fic includes what could be perceived as sexual harassment, and possibly light infidelity. Both are kind of a grey area. If this is likely to bother you, I suggest don't read.

Skele has the appearance of having a hundred underlings. Few seem to last more than two months helping him. Michael doesn’t really find that surprising. Beyond attrition through cop and rival gang, Skele is kind of a suspicious bastard. He always thinks someone is trying to smuggle product, and routinely pats down people he knows haven’t taken anything. He’s not a perv, he says, and Michael believes him. He doesn’t do it to feel up teenagers. He just genuinely believes that it keeps potential thieves on their toes and less likely to steal. Michael understands the mindset. Lindsay’s gun collection is in a glass cabinet, and is well spotted through a window with a curtain that never closes. Some people believe in showing, not telling. Not everyone is as understanding as he is though, and half the time someone’s here one day gone the next it’s because Skele’s pushed them beyond their breaking point.

The number and the rapid turnover together mean that in the last week, Michael’s been texted six different places to stay. Couch hopping; a staple in the life of a hired gang-buster. 

Michael’s not even sure how this latest couple knows Skele. He’s never seen them around, and they certainly are noticeable, between the purple hair and the huge nose. Obnoxiously hot too, not that he’s supposed to notice that shit anymore. Michael just knows Skele’s declared here his safest hideout for the next few days, and with Swamp Things holding together longer than was projected, safety is a priority.

“We only have the one bed,” the guy with the nose says. He’s got a British accent, barely faded. He must not have been in the United States long.

What he’s said is a little weird for a house this size. It’s got a second story for fucksakes. But who is Michael to say how they’ve decorated. Maybe it’s a large theatre room, or a yoga studio, or a grow op. It’s totally possible a guest room was the least important thing on their house hunting list. So he’ll be doing some actual couch surfing. Great. Still, Michael doesn’t audibly sigh. These two don’t have to share their house with someone an entire gang would like to kill slowly. They didn’t have to say yes to Skele’s request. He still owes them.

The woman looks from her boyfriend, back to him. With a friendly smile on her face she says, “but we can share. And your clothes are kinda grimy, so you should sleep in your boxers.” 

Weird. Fuckin’ weird. Maybe they’re both European? The woman doesn’t have an accent like the man, but sharing a bed with a guest isn’t a custom anywhere in North America, Michael’s sure of it. She’s right about how grimy his clothes are. He hasn’t had a chance to do laundry while running for his life. He sure the fuck isn’t going to snuggle strangers three quarters naked though. 

“If I crash on the couch can I sleep in my clothes?”

She laughs. “We’re fucking with you. There’s a guest room on the second floor.”

“Ha ha ha, real funny,” Michael responds, deadpan. “Got me. So, anyway, I’m guessing Skele told you I’m Michael?”

“Yeah.” The blond man says.

“So, you are...”

“Depends if you want my street name or my driver’s license.”

Michael shrugs. If he hears a street name, he might actually have heard about these two, despite never meeting them before. But contrary to television, most criminals don’t use gang names 24/7. If he’s here for a night or two, calling blondie Stone Cold Killa the whole time will be weird.

“Both then. Meg. But also DWAG.”

“Duh-wag?”

“Doll With A Gun.”

“Gentleman Aurum. Mr Gold was taken, wasn’t it. Gavin.”

"Where's your toilet?"

"Up the stairs, left side." 

Michael goes, less to relieve his bladder and more to give himself a few seconds break from the overwhelming hotness that is the two of them. There are three doors on the left side. Michael passes the first, because what architect would put the room often smelling of feces as the introduction to upstairs? The second room is one of those mixed purpose rooms. It's got a bed that's obviously a spare, no one puts a quilt like that on a primary bed. There's a desk too, one of those chunky wood ones. What really draws his attention though is the thing between the bed and the wall. There's really no other way to explain it than a fucking machine. There’s a black padded weight bench, stirrups, and a table with a rectangular thing that looks like a classic 1950’s tool box except it’s got a dildo sticking out of one side.

Michael stares at it for a minute. That is one serious sex toy. It's not like spending twenty on a vibe at Spencers. It's not even spending a collective hundred at Adam and Eve to get free shipping. A fucking machine is hundreds of dollars. Sure they’re fuckin’ criminals and benjies are easy money, but still. It requires dedication to get something like this.

"Do you wanna try it?"

"What?” Michael asks faintly. He’s not even surprised someone is in the doorway. Just confused. Everything is confusing.

"Do you want to try it?” Meg repeats. If his mindboggled question gave her any sort of out, she’s clearly not taking it. “It's an experience everyone should have once."

"You think _that_ is something everyone should do once? Not skydiving, or paintball, or live sushi."

"Well, except orgasm repellant asexuals. Everyone else though? Yes. Experiencing your body is important."

“I’m gonna go with pass,” Michael manages to say.

Meg shrugs. “Up to you.”

With that she leaves. Michael follows, at least into the hallway so he can close the sex room door and catch his goddamn breath. 

Jesus, can he really stay here? Within five minutes of being in this house he’s found their sex toys, been offered a chance to use them, and has been pranked about naked snuggling. Yes, this is verging on awful. Michael has to keep a few things in mind though. Swamp Things knows his face, knows he’s responsible for at the very least decimating if not quartering their membership. His apartment’s already been blown up. So has Lindsay’s, and despite her being in Belgium for three months and almost completely unscathed objectively speaking, subjectively she is pissed off. He can’t say whether or not the remnants of Swamp Things will know where the Tuggey-Jones safehouse is, but even if he had certainty, he wouldn’t dare with Lindsay as annoyed as she is right now. 

He’s gonna stay. He’s gonna text Skele and ask for his seventh relocation to be high priority, that’s for fuckin’ sure. But he can’t live to murder another day if he gets a hotel room and is recognised and reported by some rat bastard bellhop. Nor can he watch his longstanding relationship with his best friend in the world implode because he’s caused all her shit to get blown up. Staying with these slutty weirdos is his best option.

***

The credits start up and Meg instantaneously reaches for the remote to fast forward and check if there’s a post-credits scene. It seems likely, considering the genre. 

Gavin speaks into the sudden quiet. “I don’t know if that felt like a first date to you, but it felt like a first date to me.”

Meg nods. “Yeah. And it was good.”

“Top,” Gavin confirms.

“If that had been an actual first date I would have put out.”

Michael looks to the left and then beyond Meg to the far left. Somehow their argument for him sitting on the chesterfield instead of the equidistant-to-the-tv armchair was convincing. At least he managed to resist sitting in the middle, which was their opening play.

“Guys? We watched a movie. Can you please chill out?”

“Look, I’m just sayin’. You don’t have to agree with me, I’m just saying.”

Michael doesn’t agree, goddamn it. He’s got a wife. So what if he’d probably be up for a threesome if he was single? He’s not, so he can’t be into their weird sleaziness. Unacceptable.

***

Despite all the awkward sexual tension -tension Michael sincerely wishes was one way- there are still good things about this slowly prolonging stay at the Gold Doll house. One of those things is they’ll not only accept a grocery list but go pick it up, since he’s not supposed to go into the public. A man could go crazy without his grilled cheese sandwiches. The other hosts were very ‘you’ll make do’. Gavin and Meg are far more accommodating.

He’s been in his room since breakfast, when Gavin mentioned he prefers chocolate sauce over whipped cream when adding toppings to nethers, if he knows what he means. Who wouldn’t know what he means is the real question. After a slightly suggestive breakfast of cream and spreads smeared on Eggo waffles, Gavin got on with his surveillance cameras, and Meg started to monitor an auction for some poison Michael’s already forgotten the name of. 

Now though it’s snack time. It’s _carb_ time. Michael puts down the weights he uses to maintain himself and heads downstairs to grab something. What he sees next is a shock, and ridiculous on top of that. 

Gavin and Meg are both naked. Gavin’s got quite a chest of hair and two gold nipple bars. Meg’s shaven, and if she’s got any piercings they’re somewhere Michael can’t see. The funny thing is they’re not doing anything with the nudity. Gavin’s still on his double monitor computer and Meg’s reading a book on the huge bean bag chair near him. Theyre completely unsexual, except for how Michael wants to crawl all over both of them and participate in some filth. See if they have toys other than that crazy intense machine.

“Uh. What the hell?”

Meg bookmarks her novel with a finger and looks up. “You’ve been here a week, you’re not a stranger anymore.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But you don’t think this is weird?”

“What are you on about?” Gavin asks.

“Nudity. For no reason. Weird.”

“Clothing’s the weird thing. Trillion dollar industry based on ideals that change every few months. As bad as the drug industry.”

“You love industry! You wanted to call yourself Mr Gold!” Michael is aware he’s shrieking a little bit, but what the hell. He just wanted a bagel, not to get two strong visuals like this.

“Well when the Gentleman Aurum is at _home_ he wants a comfortable waft of air about him. Alright?”

Michael could shout ‘no’, but where would that get him? Skele still hasn’t gotten back to him with a new address. If he pissed Gavin off enough to get kicked out for prudishness, where the shit would he stay? Telling them they can’t be naked in the context of their own home, with a friend, might get him shot in the head before he sees it coming.

“Fuck off then. Whatever.”

***

One of the nice things about being temporarily out of commission is that he can be a lush. Sure he’s been tasked to lay low, but he’s not in active flight mode. This isn’t a Jason Bourne movie, he doesn’t have to outsmart and outrun his enemies every five minutes. He just has to not be seen. What that means in practice is that he doesn’t have to stay on edge, he can get wasted every night. Not all of his hosts have been down with it, but Meg and Gavin have been up for the challenge. This is their fourth straight night of getting hammered, broken from the last streak only by Meg needing to take a hit which ended up being an overnight job. 

In the way of drunk people, Michael doesn’t know exactly how it happens. One minute Gavin’s talking some shit about his cologne having gold flakes in it, like Jagermeister and Michael’s leaning in to inspect his neck and prove his bullshit. The next he’s got his mouth sloppily on the edge of Gavin’s, before Gav turns his head and they have proper contact. Gavin tastes like the pussy lime beer he’s been guzzling and regardless of gold flakes or not he smells citrusy too. Michael enjoys it for a minute before his morals push through the murkiness of satisfied arousal.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says. He knows he’s flushing red, knows it’s more embarrassment than the booze. He pulls away, sits facing firmly forward but can’t quite manage to make eye contact with Meg. There is a line between flirtation and making a move and he’s crossed it, like an asshole.

“For what?” 

Michael gestures. “You know.” He’s obviously hard in his jeans, there’s no way they could miss it. 

“And I said for what.” Meg runs her hand over Gavin’s hair and Michael is confused. That’s far too gentle for someone who’s gotten pg13 cheated on. Unless it’s one farewell gesture before the ‘get out of my house’ screaming starts? Except Gavin takes it as a cue to get off the couch and onto his knees.

“Ga- Gavin?” he stutters. Gavin strokes his hands up and down his stone-washed denim thighs, and Michael succumbs, for a second. His eyes flutter closed and he imagines he can feel the heat of Gavin’s breath on his dick.

If he stays here for one second longer, it’s going to happen. Michael wants it, Jesus christ does he want it. Everyone here does; Meg’s hand is back on Gavin’s head as she reclines beside Michael, presumably for a better view. But he won’t, can’t let it happen. In a burst of movement he stands, kneeing Gavin as he does. He doesn’t say anything, just leaves the room. It’s not like he can scream at them for being sluts when he wants this just as badly. 

Michael staggers to the guest room and locks the door. There’s only one option. He has to tell Lindsay. It’ll fuck him up if he doesn’t. He might not be the Pope when it comes to life choices -he lives in Los Santos and has a job, those necessitate alternate morality systems- but there are things he doesn’t do. He doesn’t fuck over the people he cares about. Sober, drunk, or riding high on seven days of PCP, that’ll always be true.

That said, he’s not ready for this conversation. He’s not sober enough. This is the kind of conversation to have when you can properly convey your guilt. Right now he’ll get rambly, and maybe mention how he liked Meg’s direction and that now he wants to try stupid Bud Lime and see if the aftertaste is anything like the residue left in someone’s mouth.

He sets an alarm on his phone for two hours, then climbs into bed fully clothed. He’ll nap or he won’t but either way he’ll be seventy percent more coherent by the time he’s blasted with noise. 

***

“I fucked up Linds.”

Half a continent away Lindsay seems less than surprised. She raises an eyebrow. “Two things come to mind. Did you say fuck it and leave hiding to fuck with more Swamp Things?”

“No.” Michael’s not going to deny the idea has been tempting, but Skele’s been convincing and Gavin and Meg have been distracting.

“Okay, then did you fool around with one or both of them?”

“What?” It’s not the correct answer, that’s a shameful yes, but seriously, what?

Lindsay’s next comment is shocking. “The last time you had a crush this bad it was on that Rooster Teeth bigman, Ramsey. I was surprised nothing happened then. This is just progress.”

Michael can’t deny thinking that Ramsey was hot and powerful and awesome. He’s certain he never said anything to make Lindsay think he was going to cheat on her though. “But I love you!”

“Again, obvious. But we didn’t write vows of chastity, did we?”

What is happening in this conversation? Michael was expecting to be dragged over rusty spike belts, not condoned. He squints at the laptop. It’s a fairly high quality connection, which makes sense for Gavin’s work. He would probably be able to tell if Lindsay was out of her mind on drugs. Right now she just looks her normal cute self, down to the Adventure Time t-shirt. 

“Not celibacy, maybe, but monogamy? Pretty fuckin’ sure.”

Lindsay rolls her eyes. “You’re arguing against your best interests.”

“So are you, idiot!”

“Look, would it make you feel better if I came out and got to know them too?”

“Yes!” Michael shouts before his mouth gets a properly filtered response from his brain.

She reacts far too calmly for what they’re negotiating. “Okay, cool. I’ll be out there before you know it. And if I’d be up for sex, you’ll join in?”

Michael pokes his own head for a moment and comes up in the positive. There’s only one thing standing in the way of going back downstairs and doing them right now, and that his feelings about Lindsay.

“Still love me?” Maybe he’s drunker than he thought. He’s not usually so needy.

“Yep.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my whatever and hope to whatever dude.”

Normally Michael’s fine with that level of glib. Likes it, even. He wouldn’t want to be with her forever and ever amen if he didn’t love the way she expresses herself. At this moment though, it’s too lighthearted. “Lindsay.”

“Yes. Of course I love you, idiot. I just didn’t realise we weren’t on the same page about the semi-open thing.”

Oh shit. If Lindsay thinks they’ve been doing this the whole time maybe she’s... “Wait. Have you had a Ramsey?”

“Well, technically a Ramsey is a crush on someone, so yeah. But have I done anything with anyone? No. I knew that if either of us got to that place of really wanting to, we’d talk about it. Like you just did.”

Michael can deal with that. He can deal with something happening in the future, with his blessing, as long as nothing happened behind his back in the past. Chock it up to Los Santos morals if you have to.

***

It’s hard to go on a date when you can’t leave the house, and Michael definitely can’t yet. About three hours ago Michael got a message from Skele that the Swamp Things blew up a warehouse of ‘MeriGrow, just to let people know they’ve consolidated and are ready to run as a leaner gang. Tomorrow Michael’s got a big decision to make: if he’s going to put up with this being hunted shit, or if he’s going to do his goddamn job and finish breaking the gang he was instructed to destroy. Tonight though he’s willing to stay in, for the sake of peaceful uninterrupted time. Sure these are the kind of people he could take on a date to a knife fight but he’d rather not. As far as Michael knows no one in the house has a blood fetish, and if things take a turn for the best, tonight should end in sex. Sewing each other up with stitches will hinder that.

Meg and Gavin have provided for a home date as best they can. Sitting on the dining room table is a board game called Pandemic where motherfuckers in like forty different cities get plagues and you have to exterminate them. Michael will take a plotty video game with the same hand he’d take a button smashing dumb one, and a world saving board game sounds close to the first for entertainment value. 

Before that though there’s three bags worth of take out. Meg shakes her shoes off when she gets in, then shimmies out of everything else. Lindsay’s only reaction is to ask if it’s casual family nudity unworthy of theatrics or if she’s allowed to appreciate it.

“Bit of column A, bit of column B. Gav and I have a strict nudity around those we trust policy, so we don’t really consider it a big deal? But come on, everyone likes being complimented.”

Lindsay nods. “Alright, so I appreciate the hotness of you. Did you get onion rings?”

Two hours later and Michael’s planting stakes in Best Case Scenario-ville. Coolers during dinner warmed them all up for joking and flirting during the game, so despite being sober now, everyone is tipsy with happiness. Going up the flight of stairs was the definition of grab ass, which is even more fun when the whole the party is naked. And now they’re all in the most comfortable looking sex dungeon Michael’s ever seen, waiting to see who’s going to make the first move.

He’d guess Meg, because she’s clearly the the leader of the Gold Doll house. He’d guess Gavin, because he’s stereotypically gayer than Michael is, and he probably wants some dick. He’d guess Lindsay, because she flew all the way from Europe for this. But somehow it’s Michael who speaks first, looking at the still set up fucking machine. “This thing looks mental.”

“Nah, he’s great,” Meg corrects.

“He?”

“Yeah. Pedro, right? I’d call it Pedro.” Lindsay jumps in. “It’s a dick on a piston, of course it’s a dude.”

“I call him Gavin Two, since he’ll make a great replacement in fifty years when we’re in a retirement home and Gav’s dick doesn’t work anymore. We’ll tell the kids it’s a VCR. They’ll recognise the word as old tech and won’t ask questions,” Meg laughs. 

“Except it’s name is Hammerhead,” Gavin states.

“That’s only one attachment!” Meg yells.

“I’ll call it Fiiiiiiiiish,” Michael says. His yelp gets the laugh he was hoping for. “Fishing for my prostate.”

“You wanna use it?” Meg asks. The glint in her eye says she knew it, she always knew he’d break under the weight of his desires. But it’s not a malicious righteousness. If anything she seems happy for him, that he’s, how did she put it three weeks ago? Experiencing his body.

“What’s the best way to do this?” It’s harder than you’d think to ask. This is a very specific sex toy and he’s admitting to wanting it at the peak of its ability.

“I’d say lay on your back,” Gavin suggests. He’s smiling, he’s still standing but he’s got Lindsay in his arms and Michael’s not mad. In fact, he thinks watching them start to touch each other might ease the way he’s abruptly feeling awkward. He very nearly changes his mind about laying down.

Once he’s down he has the thought that he might feel less on edge about this if he was in another position. If he was on his hands and knees he would be anonymous. He wouldn’t look at anyone and they wouldn’t look at him. It would be all about the pleasure. Simple. If wishes were horses beggars would ride, his mom says. Not that he wants to be thinking about his mom right now. That’s just weird. 

Instead he’s on his back. From shoulders to hips at least. His legs are up and extended over Meg’s thighs. Since she’s straddling the other end of the bench, it’s the only place to put them. It doesn’t matter that his eyes are closed, he can tell everyone in the room is looking at him. They’re dissecting his features until they know him, and the first thing they knows is how much Michael wants to be used. 

The only saving grace is Meg. With one hand soothing the leg that’s thrown over hers, she manages to get four fingers up his ass. Michael’s hardly new to anal but this is different. In the past getting fingered has been the main event. This is going to be so much more.

Eventually Meg declares him ready. She helps him slide down the bench, then guides the head of the dildo to pop into him. The machine starts slow, and Michael wants it to be good. He wants it to be worth all of this. Between the shame and the weird prod of it though, Michael’s feeling nothing but regret. Gavin and Lindsay don’t notice, fooling around the way they are, but Meg is still monitoring him. Unsurprising, since she was basically the one to orchestrate all of this.

“Not doin’ it for you?”

“Nope, not really.”

Meg doesn’t respond for a second. Then she gets a pillow and guides it under his hips. That makes all the difference. All of a sudden the dildo is cyclically nudging his prostate.

Meg can tell just by looking at him. “Yeah? Okay, gonna go make out with your girlfriend.”

It’s very fucking interesting, getting fucked by a machine while a foot to the left there’s a threesome happening. It’s like jerking off while watching porn times a million. Michael doesn’t even have to move to get his pleasure, and the sex he’s watching involves the sexiest people he’s ever seen. And unlike porn, they interact with him. A few times Lindsay leans over the gap to kiss him before a hand pulls her back into a better position to be touched. Meg spends a few minutes scratching his thighs and playing with his balls before rejoining Gavin’s takeover of Lindsay. And then there’s Gavin. When Michael sees him worming his way to the side of the bed he’s not sure what to expect. Resumation of their drunken kiss? What he gets is a hand fiddling with The Toolbox. If the machine’s not on it’s highest setting now, it’s close. Michael loses his mind. There’s a constant slam on his prostate, and he’s heard that some women don’t like power drill lovers, that that’s just a shitty porn thing, but fuck that. He thinks he might be drooling.

He orgasms like it’s being punched out of him; a grunt and abs squeezed tight. A moment later the dildo knocks his prostate again, and again, and Michael realises it’s not going to stop. He’s had lovers with stamina, but this machine will literally never stop. He can’t tell if that’s scary or sexy.

“Want it off? Or are you into overstimulation?”

Michael imagines the machine fucking him until he’s hard again and shivers. That’s maybe a can of worms best left unopened. “Turn it off so I can wipe this jizz off my chest.”

Meg reaches out and dials The Toolbox off. “Come over here and Gav’ll lick it off. He’s into it.”

Michael gets up on shaky legs and tumbles into the bed. He can definitely find something to do as he waits for his refractory period to count down.

***

Michael’s not sure what’s going to happen next. It’s been a few days since the orgy and the lack of change is almost offputting. He and Lindsay are living here for a stated two reasons: lack of a better house and for safety. Truthfully, that reasoning is becoming more and more of an excuse each day. Michael doesn’t want to leave. They haven’t group fucked again, but the casual nudity and the heavy flirting have both been strongly in play. Michael’s pretty sure Lindsay likes their sleazy kindness as much as he does.

“I found a location on the newly revised Swamp Things,” Gavin announces. “Their headquarters. If you can get cops on the scene, I have contacts that can get them shivved in lock up.”

“Or we can do it ourselves,” Meg replies, already getting up to open the front closet that stores their weapons.

“Shouldn’t you be telling this to Skele? And what do you mean, we?”

“I like my little Micoo better,” Gavin coos as Meg talks more firmly. “Of course we’re both going in. I’m an assassin.”

“You’re a contract killer, and Skele’s contract for this is with _me_.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “So outsource. Gimme a dollar. Hire me. Lindsay, you want in on this?”

“They blew up my fucking house. Of course I do!”

Well, shit. They might not have a four way marriage, but they’re forming a gang together. In Los Santos that’s just as good.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points for you if you recognised the bandom lyric from when this was a outline for a bandom fic :)


End file.
